With her model good looks and soft-spoken confidence, Dr. Annie Raftis offers a comforting haven in the shiny, sterile examining rooms where a pet's fate often hangs in the balance. But the animal world almost lost this compassionate veterinarian. She started her career in fashion, working for Ralph Lauren. Unfulfilled by that glamorous job, Raftis followed her dream to the Elliott Bay Animal Hospital. Her white vet's coat may lack runway chic, but for her, it's a perfect fit.
Although she always harbored thoughts of veterinary medicine, Raftis didn't think she could handle the blood and gore. Sure, as a child, she rescued birds with broken wings and played nurse to the rats her cats caught. But in the '80s a girl who got good grades was encouraged to pursue business and finance. A career on Wall Street seemed inevitable.
After graduating from Georgetown University with a business degree, 21-year-old Raftis headed straight to Paris for a stint at AT&T in marketing and public relations. A year later she returned to New York, thinking she'd apply for a permanent visa and go back to France. "I decided to line up some job interviews for the experience," Raftis recalls, "and to make myself look useful to my father. One headhunter asked me how fast I typed. I said, 'I don't,' and he sent me on an interview at Ralph Lauren."
Raftis landed the job. From 1988 to 1993, she worked for the mega-designer, starting in production as a liaison between design and the manufacturers. Four months later, the design department recruited her to work on men's woven shirts. "You didn't have to be a great designer," she emphasizes. "You just had to understand the Ralph Lauren sense of fashion - classic. Ralph actually designed everything. I recommended fabrics and trends and was integral in pattern-making and designing the specs and fit."
But Raftis wanted something more. In Septem-ber 1993, she quit her New York job and drove across country to Seattle. Along the way, she stopped at the Grand Canyon, where she experi-enced something of an epiphany. Early one morning while she stood watching a man feed his horses as the mist wafted over the fields, suddenly her future seemed clear. "By the time I reached Seattle, I knew I was going to stay and attend vet school. I felt like I was home."
And she was. Raftis actually lived in Seattle until she was 12 years old. Her father worked as a lawyer for Pacific Northwest Bell, but in 1977 was offered an East Coast job as corporate counsel for AT&T. So he moved the family to Summit, New Jersey,
Her second day back, Raftis applied for a job as a veterinary receptionist at Broadway Veteri-nary Hospital, where she worked for three years while attending pre-vet classes at University of Washington and North Seattle Community College. From there, she went on to vet school at Washington State University in Pullman.
"It was six months before I mustered the courage to tell my friends and family," she admits. "They thought I was crazy; I thought it was normal. I hate to use the word 'calling,' but that's really what it was. I started vet school at 31, and graduated at 35. And I've never regretted my decision. Not a second; not a day. My mother once told me she'd be happy if I were selling flowers on the street corner, as long as I was happy. And my dad likes to say my autobiography should be titled 'From Paris to Pullman.'"
At Elliott Bay, where she has worked almost three years, her patients are mostly dogs and cats, with an occasional rabbit or rodent. But during her veterinary career Raftis has tipped cows, worked on horses and pigs, even saved a few exotic animals. A far cry from the fashion salons of New York - these days she gladly trades haute couture for an occasional pet miracle. "One 12-year-old dog came in with bone cancer in its jaw, and most people would have given up. But this client opted for surgery, so we removed half the jaw. The dog was eating the next day and lived another year. Yesterday, we treated a cat that fell out of a six-story window and broke her little leg, and she's doing fine. A lot of people say, 'I could never be a veterinarian; it's too hard to see them suffer.' To me, it's too hard not to be a vet and watch them suffer."
But Raftis admits she tears up over the difficult cases. "Sometimes I cry during euthanasia, especially if I've bonded with the pet. And I cry with the owners. Today one of my favorite patients was diagnosed with cancer. A lot of doctors are able to desensitize. You don't have to cry to be compassionate, but often it reaches that level. I've always said the day I stop feeling is the day I shouldn't be doing it anymore."
At the end of the working day, Raftis makes her way home to her favorite mutts, two cats and a dog. She rescued her dog "Moo" at vet school - named for his resemblance to a Holstein calf. Moo was brought in with a harness that had grown into him. Her cat, Etta James, just showed up at the Broadway Hospital, and the other cat, Alex, "chose" Raftis at a pet fair in New Jersey.
When she isn't working, Raftis travels the world. She's been everywhere but Russia and India - and they're next.
Despite a near-miss or two, she's still unmarried. "I feel the same way about romance as I do about my career," she confesses. "I'm looking for that perfect fit. Maybe if I stand still long enough, it might happen. That is, if my pets approve - they insist on screening all my prospects."
